


Raining

by Raven_Ehtar



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Early in Canon, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-16 14:13:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/862930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raven_Ehtar/pseuds/Raven_Ehtar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brand new to the world, Heaven and Hell's two ground agents are getting used to each others company.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raining

It was raining in Eden. It had been raining in Eden for quite some time now. It was the very first rain the new world had ever experienced, and it had gotten up to an impressive start. After the first few hours it had blown out a lot of its own bulk and had settled into the steady kind of patter that could, would and had remained constant for the last few days. The animals, who had cowered from the showers when they’d arrived, had also settled into a routine that would become the norm for future generations: that of dull acceptance and doing one’s best to stay warm under broad canopies and avoid the worst of the drips.

Aziraphale, guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden, did his best to do the same. He stood beneath one of the largest fronds he could find, his back to the smooth trunk of an infant species of tree and wings held tight against his body, and tried to convince himself that this was _not_ a punishment assignment. He remembered – not without a certain amount of longing – the warm barracks in Heaven. It had been dull – though less so right towards the end – but it had been comfortable. There had been no sharp winds that cut to the skin or damp that crept and dripped wherever it could, like there was here.

He wasn’t even sure what it was, exactly, he was meant to be doing. He was the Guardian of the Eastern Gate and everything, provided with a flaming sword* all his own for the defense of the gate and the Tree of Knowledge hidden in the garden… but why on Earth was he guarding it now? The damage was done, all the knowledge mankind was ever going the gain by its fruit had already been gained, so what, really, was the point in guarding it? It’s not as though there were some _other_ tribe of ignorant, innocent and slightly damp humans, as new to the world as it was to them, seeking out knowledge to better themselves. Save the two recently evicted and their one on the way, there were no other humans at all. 

(*A flaming sword that had in no way, shape or form been _lost_. Aziraphale knew precisely where it was in relation to some other objects and/or persons. That location just wasn’t where _he_ was. If asked, the angel would become embarrassed and quickly change the subject.)

It probably had something to do with ineffability. Most things did, it seemed, and there was no reason why this should be any different. But, ineffable plans or not, would it have hurt so much to give Aziraphale some sort of secondary reason for doing this? Even if it was just an excuse, even if he had been able to _tell_ , he wouldn’t have minded.* It would have been enough knowing that they cared to make an _effort_. But that was the trouble with the management, now. It wasn’t God giving the day to day instructions any more, but the angels who had enough rank to do so themselves. As much as he loved his brothers and sisters, Aziraphale was not insensible to the idea that they were fallible creatures. After all, Lucifer had once been one of the greatest of angels, and _he_ had fallen quite far…

(*Never did it occur to Aziraphale that the reason of guarding the Tree of Knowledge might have _been_ the flimsy excuse he wanted, and the real reason for stationing him there was quite beyond his current comprehension.)

Aziraphale’s train of thought was interrupted, quite effectively, by a strange and unpleasant sensation creeping up his leg. It was the slick, strong and above all _cold_ feeling of something wrapping itself around his left leg and slowly spiraling its way up his calf. How it was managing to do this without the accompanying sensations of claws, teeth or even fingers helping it along was answered by the sheer strength it showed as it continued the long spiral up Aziraphale’s calf, thigh, over his right hip, across his back and up over his left shoulder.

Respect for his Father’s creation had kept the angel from forcibly dislodging the beast as soon as it touched him, and by the time it got up to his hip – still under his loose, standard issue robes of all angel soldiers – he’d worked out _who_ this particular beast was. 

A triangular head popped out from the collar of his robe, balanced on a long and scaly neck, which looped back slightly and formed an ‘S’ so the two red eyes could look at him without straining. Aziraphale turned his head to stare at the creature that was now sharing his clothes. 

Technically, he was an enemy, and probably the one he should blame the most for his current assignment. But aside from the two very brief visits from brother angels, his was the only face that had remained fairly consistent. Unless you counted the small family of ducks on the nearby lake who, for some reason, had a habit of staring at the angel expectantly. Aziraphale had the sneaking suspicion that unless he suddenly became an upstairs favorite and got a transfer out of Earth duty, his would be the only familiar face for a very long time.

He raised an elegant eyebrow at the face full of damp, dark scales. Despite being relatively immobile, it contrived to look sheepish. 

“Cold?” Aziraphale asked, at the same exact moment the snake said,

“Cold,” as a one word explanation, rather defensively.

Aziraphale smiled at Crawly, the demon that had introduced the first humans to the forbidden fruit of knowledge, and his one real companion in the Garden of Eden. An angel stationed to guard a tree already plundered and a demon left to tempt the humans already tainted. The red, reptilian eyes slid away from his, then glared upwards when a particularly fat raindrop fell from the fronds, landing squarely on his head. 

Aziraphale choked back a laugh and silently adjusted his wings, unclamping them from his sides and mantling them over his and Crawly’s heads. It left Aziraphale a little colder, but provided a much better roof from the rain than the leaky canopy of leaves. The vise-like body wrapped around him seemed to relax slightly at the adjustment. 

“Thank you,” the serpent said with evident relief.

“Not at all,” the angel replied with a small shiver. They really ought to have made these robes with thicker material, he mused. But then again, they hadn’t made them with extended Earth visits in mind. He cast a speculative eye upwards, but there was no sign of the weather brightening any time soon. He glanced at Crawly again. “Why don’t you change shape? It seems that body is much the reason for your discomfort, and I know you didn’t begin as a snake. Why not try something with fur?”

Crawly, staring off into the dripping forest as his body slowly warmed against Aziraphale’s flesh, waggled his head back and forth. “Oh, you know…” he began. “Changing bodies is such a nuisance, what with having to get used to new systems and maintenance requirements. Plus there’s a lot going for this body even without the internal heat generator, and I’m just getting a real hang of how it works. Besides,” he looked at his angel perch. “Do you _know_ what kind of palaver you have to go through to acquire a fresh body these days, with all of this _newness_ about?” He shook his head again despairingly.

Aziraphale remained silent, staring off into the falling rain with the snake, the occasional fat raindrop pattering against his mantled wings. He contemplated Crawly’s reasons quietly. It only took a few minutes to decide it was a load of rubbish.

“You’ll use any excuse to continue using me as a personal heater, won’t you?”

The slim but incredibly strong body tightened around Aziraphale, briefly, a possessive little squeeze. Crawly shook gently, hissing with snakish chuckles. “You know me ssso well already, angel,” he hissed in his ear gleefully.

Aziraphale twitched slightly. “Ah! Tongue, serpent, mind your tongue!”

“Sssorry,” Crawly said, not sounding at all apologetic. “Forget myssself sssometimess.”

Aziraphale glared at the serpent, and the tongue that continued to flicker in and out between scaly lips after having thoroughly tickled his ear. If it weren’t for the snake’s body that made such things impossible, he would have sworn that Crawly was grinning at him… in a highly suggestive fashion. 

It wasn’t within Aziraphale’s nature to be terribly conscious of such things. It was more in his makeup to be honorable and chaste. But a lot of things had been changing in the worlds of late, and he found that while he wasn’t entirely overtaken by these new thoughts and sensations, they _were_ intriguing. And it was taking more effort than it strictly should to keep them at bay. At the moment, for example, it was difficult to tune out the peculiar, understated serpentine strength wrapped around his body, the smoldering hellfire light in Crawly’s eyes, or to wonder what else that sinful forked tongue could do…

Aziraphale felt his face heat up with a flush, betraying his treacherous thoughts, and Crawly looked up at an even more obvious signs of the angel’s internal struggle.

Aziraphale’s wings, still arched over them as a makeshift roof, had fluffed up to look almost twice their usual size. It was an involuntary reaction, and Crawly staring at them only made the flush on his face worse.

When Crawly finally decided to comment, his tone made it perfectly clear he knew why his wings had fluffed up, each of the feathers standing to attention, and that he would never let Aziraphale live it down. “Interesting effect, angel. Is it systematic for the whole body?” He eyed him up and down.

Aziraphale wondered how flushed he would have to get before he began to steam. 

At least he wasn’t cold anymore.


End file.
